


Oh God No (he's hot)

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q Reverse Bang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:58:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: No matter how big of a genius he is, Q can't help but be afraid of going on airplanes and hate talking with anyone who rides them. He goes out of his way to learn more languages to pretend that he doesn't have a clue what his seat partners are saying and ensure that he will be left to his codding in peace, but then he bumps into James Bond. The man is persistent and seems to know as many languages as he does and Q can't help but have a conversation with him and hope for more.For the 00Q Reverse Big Bang and inspired by the lovely Hannars97's art prompt and beta-ed by the darling and ever patient Castillon02.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HannaRS97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannaRS97/gifts).



> I apologize it took so long for me to post it. It was a lot of fun to write for this and I got the idea and the plot from the second I saw your art, so thank you so much for doing it. I hope you (and everyone else) have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

 

His hatred for airplanes and all people who were on them but weren’t needed to keep the flying iron coffin in the air had been instilled in him at the tender age of eight. His parents had decided that a little visit to his only living grandparent in France would be a good experience for him, and at first, it sounded like a good idea to him too. He loved his nana, and when she was in London the woman treated him as if he was her own private little god, giving him all the sweets and foods he could eat, taking him to all the museums he wanted, and letting him take apart and rebuild all the decently priced objects he saw, so why shouldn’t he go to her country for a change?

 

Because he got dizzy and his nose started to bleed, and also because of bloody old, paranoid ladies that talked about the many horrible ways you could die while in an airplane while said airplane went through such horrible turbulences that the cabin actually managed to depressurise enough for the masks to drop from  above. Worse still, his was defective in that the mask dropped to the ground. He had stared at it, sure that he was going to die, until the lady in the row next to him decided that his life was more important than hers and switched seats with him – she hadn’t died, no one did, but he was traumatized so much that his nana had sent him back home via train.

 

That was the moment that he decided he would never _ever_ talk with anyone ever again unless he had to, and especially if he was on an airplane ever – well, he had first decided to never fly again, but it turned out that in life you couldn’t get an extra two weeks of vacation so you could take the train everywhere you needed, no matter your age – and because headphones were ignored in the rudest way possible,

 

The older he got, the more people started to want to talk with him, women outright hitting on him and men pretty much trying to figure out which way he swung – sometimes because they were interested and other times because of the way he dressed and they were trying to win a bet. But they all stopped and ducked their heads when he answered in a language that they didn’t understand, silencing the ones who were dumb enough to actually think speaking louder to a foreigner would fix their problems by simply going on a rant about how rude they were in his ‘maternal’ language.  

 

He even managed to trick the ones who actually spoke the original language that he answered in by instantly pulling out his phone, starting up an app that he himself had coded, and then smiling dumbly at the person in question as he showed them the exact line he had just said, counted back down from five, and then instantly started to talk fast in the hardest language he knew, which immediately scared them off.

 

But like all good things, this genius plan of his had to come to an abrupt end with the introduction of the British blond pest. From the moment they bumped into each other at the airport’s entrance, it was clear that he was the kind of person who easily tricked people into talking and revealing their secrets, what with his friendly smile and an apparent lack of knowledge when it came to personal space when he offered to help you with your bags.

 

“I have no idea how I managed to miss someone with so many bags,” he exclaimed as he easily picked up three of Q’s bags while also pulling him back to his feet. “The name is Bond. James Bond,” he introduced himself, flashing a charming smile instead of releasing the thin hand that was weakly pulling back.

 

Q had been lost in the man’s incredible blue eyes for about a second before he was reminded by the powerful hum of an airplane flying above them where he was and of the slim chance that he might be stuck next to him on the flight back to London – actually, going by his obvious British accent and British name and the fact that they were on an airport in Italy, that slim chance was more of a certainty than anything – and that he might turn out to be a harbinger of death, so he kept silent.

 

Not that it bothered Bond, James Bond too much, the man still smiling as he piled the many bags on a trolley. “You must have stayed here long enough to find out all the little secrets of this country, right?” He looked at his new companion with hopes of an answer for a moment, but must have gotten the hint from the annoyed huff and slight glare that he wasn’t going to hear anything, so he carried on talking

 

James explained for no reason that he had been there on business, adding that it irked him that he only got to see countries on the run, and that he realized he was wasting his downtime – a strange way of referring to holiday – on stupid things such as bar hopping through London. And then Q had bumped into the moving castle of luggage and it was as if a thick fog had lifted from his mind - overly dramatic, in Q’s opinion.

 

“Well, no more,” James declared, resting his hands on his hips, perhaps hinting at the fact that he might have been a good drama student in his youth. “As soon as I am done presenting my report, I’ll pack my bags and come back here.” He glanced at the silently fuming man, sketching another smile which could only mean even more talking on the plane that it was now more than obvious that they’d share. “Say, just in case both of us are going in the same direction and since you might know this country way better than me, how about you—”

 

Over his dead body would he allow himself to be roped into playing tour guide for a complete stranger who, on a closer look, was also being a complete creep. With a huff, Q grabbed hold of the trolley and pushed through the crowd, quickly making his way to check his bags in and then to the security line and ID check.

 

But of course, he bumped into the pest not twenty minutes later in the VIP waiting room for the flight to London. He tried to make himself look smaller, but that turned out to be a huge mistake because the man’s eyes were attracted by the only person who was not acting normal in there and he plopped down next to him as if they were best friends.

 

“You don’t know how happy I am that I was right about the fact that both of us are going in the same direction.” And Bond, James Bond had no idea how upset _he_ was over the fact that he had been right in that cursed feeling. “You know, I got bored just by thinking that I’d have to fly back to London again, but something tells me that you’ll—”

 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand a single word that you’re saying,” he interrupted the man before an actual connection was formed between them.

 

The man blinked, but just as Q was about to sigh in relief and return to digging through his hand luggage for the right USB – he might have to return to London, but he was still working for the Vinciguerra family who had been kind enough to attempt to make the flight more pleasant by getting him first class tickets – so he could finish the damned firewall, the grin was back on James’ face.

 

“You have no idea how much I missed talking in this language,” he said in perfect bloody Russian, because of course he’d know that language. “What’s your name, if I may ask?”

 

No, he may not, but Q wasn’t rude enough to tell him that – but if the man was too stubborn or too soft in the head to get the point, the app was sure to clear that right up. “In all honesty, I don’t really know that language either. I was just testing this app, so I apologize,” he said, wiggling his phone in James’ face.

 

But did the bloody man look confused? Could he huff and move away like any decent human being who didn’t know more than two languages? No, of course not because all the powers of the universe were dead set on getting Q to interact with more people and meet new people in hopes that he wouldn’t die alone with his cat in his apartment, like his mother lamented he would.

 

In fact, James looked even happier than before, almost giddy. “I have more control over Russian because my best friend is a genuine Russian bastard, but I am pretty confident in my Lithuanian.” How the bloody hell did you say ‘fuck my life’ in Lithuanian? “So, can I annoy you again by asking you for your name, or are you going to try to get rid of me again by switching to another language, in which case I promise to move to another seat after I apologize and to never bother you again?”

 

Was the man guilt-tripping him? The voice wasn’t as pathetic as the last friend of a friend of a friend who had tried to get him to agree to a second date, and he wasn’t giving him the pleading look he’d got from maybe-boyfriend of two weeks who had thought he had access to Q’s bed, nether region, and mouth just because they had gone to the theatre - his friends were still apologizing for the less than stellar outcome of their attempts and swore on their lives that they became more strict when it came to picking out a lover for him, but Q refused to go on another blind date even if his life depended on it -  so maybe James was not doing it.

 

“You can call me Q,” he said slowly, opting to share his nickname with the stranger instead of his overly long and complex name as he usually did, holding out his hand to him.

 

“A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Q,” James continued to say in a perfect Lithuanian.

 

Q hummed, opening a bottle of water so he could take one of the many pills that were supposed to calm him down and stop him from becoming dizzy or painting his clothes in his blood because, surprise, surprise, the doctors had determined that everything happened because he was panicking, shoving a prescription for a few nasal sprays that they promised would keep his clothes blood free at him, except none of them did! “You might reconsider that pleasure of yours if these pills backfire and I get sick all over you.”

 

He expected the man to move to another chair, or at least pull back a little, but James stayed right where he was and went as far as to look a bit worried. “Could you, perhaps, be suffering from the same illness I do when flying is involved, even though this is the safest way to travel?” Q narrowed his eyes but nodded. “Is there anything that I can do make this trip more comfortable for you?”

 

God, he was so tempted to tell him to stop talking and leave him alone. However, despite logic, common sense, and his best judgement telling him to give in to that temptation, he held back. “Not talk about all the horrible ways we could die?”

 

James started to laugh, and only then did Q realize that the man had been tense, the very nice suit he was wearing looking like it was about to explode because every muscle had been flexed. “I’d rather be bored than sick, so I can safely swear on my life, honour, and soul that I will not even think about that topic of discussion.”

 

That implied that he would have other topics of discussion and Q braced himself for a long conversation about how awesome he was or whatever other subject a man of his visage and apparent pedigree would go for, only to be surprised by the fact that James opted to ask only a few questions about Italy and Q’s job.

 

It wasn’t a terribly unpleasant conversation, especially since the man was truly interested in the app he had created – Q knew this because he was asking the right questions and even reached the right conclusions on his own. But as refreshing and amazing as everything was, especially since he didn’t feel the earth spinning and didn’t have half a packet of napkins shoved up his nose, he still had work to do.

 

“Can I ask you what you are working on?” James asked after pretending for five minutes that he wasn’t peeking over his shoulder.

 

“I have no idea,” Q said honestly. “They’ve been having me working on parts of a larger program, saying they are apps for calculating this or that, and while it’s not a complete lie, I know that that they are a part of something larger.” If James asked something after that, Q didn’t hear him, and the man wasn’t so rude as to tug on his sleeve or poke him to get him to pay attention, so he fully focused on fixing a minor issue that had appeared out of nowhere.

 

He groaned when he heard that they were ready for boarding, opening another app to look and be sure that it really would take him an impossible amount of time to get there by boat. His employers were sure not to be too pleased about him needing about two days - even if he considered that amount of time to be more than decent - but maybe if he pretended he had come down with a sudden case of something nasty and-

 

“Sir, are you boarding?” the nice flight attendant asked him softly, a pleasant smile on her lips.

 

“Oh, yes,” he breathed out, feeling his face starting to get warm. “I was just thinking of…” He trailed off and just gave the woman his tickets, sparing both himself and her of a stuttered and unneeded clarification of just where his mind was at that moment.

 

He almost groaned when he saw that he was sitting next to the man who knew too many languages for his own, but the man was quite happy about it. “I feared that I would be sat next to that little boy that seemed inclined to start crying the second his parents even thought about saying no.”

 

A child that Q hadn’t noticed because he hadn’t tried to interact with him or tug his laptop from his hands and demand to watch a movie as so many others had before.

 

Forcing a smile, Q buckled up and dug his nails in the seat’s armrests. “And I was afraid that I’d get two seats all to myself.”

 

Patting his hand, the man smiled reassuringly at him. “Don’t worry; we’ll both get through the  liftoff and the landing just fine.”

 

Q doubted that, but the man was right. He knew just the right moments when to distract him and with what, his questions regarding his job and hobbies - which Q wasn’t too keen on sharing beyond the fact that he liked to read and ‘fiddle with things’ - being pleasant for the first time instead of intruding.

 

When the laptop came out, the man’s line of questioning slowly died down and Q only realized he hadn’t gotten dizzy at all throughout this flight when the flight attendant informed him thusly. Even more surprising was the fact that James stayed behind, waiting for him, also offering to help him with his bags, stacking them in the car with the dexterity of someone who spent a lot of time during company meetings playing Tetris. “Now that we’re done, can I hear how you sound in English?” James cheekily asked after he had drunk an entire bottle of water and pushed the cabbie away so he could open the door for him.

 

“Thank you,” Q muttered after a moment of silence, seemingly making James’ day because the man blinded him with another smile which could have been easily considered creepy if another person had done it, but looked perfect on the blond man’s lips. Actually, now that he was looking at the man, he was quite a sight for sore eyes, with his perfect suit that hinted at how well-toned his muscles were and eyes so blue that they put to shame glacial lakes.

 

“Okay, this might sound strange and cheesy, but would you please read the yellow pages to me? The Chinese one?” James asked. They shared a laugh and then James was suddenly serious. “Also, though it is none of my business, if you’re getting a bad vibe from your current job, I think you should find a new one.”

 

The next logical step would have been for James to ask for his number or address and, much to his surprise, Q realized that he would have eagerly given them to him – making a mental note that if it turned out the man was a serial killer, he would have been really cross and he would have done everything in his power to come back and haunt him – but James didn’t. Maybe he would have wanted to, but someone called out to him and the cabbie closed the door while James was distracted by the beautiful woman with curly hair and then started up the car, slowly driving away.

 

James was easily forgotten after that, Q’s mind busy with the projects – and checks – given to him by the Vinciguerra until they started to get too suspicious and dangerous, so he decided that he really should follow James’ advice and drop them.

 

That move wasn’t as easy as he had hoped it would be, the family even going as far as to heavily imply they would kill him if he really left them – which is why he heavily implied back that if anything bad were to happen to him, all the files he had worked on would be forwarded to MI6, CIA, KGB, and all the other acronyms for secret services around the world. And once that terrifying family backed away, he became busy with finding a new project that wasn’t associated with that bunch of weird and dangerous people, so who had time to think of the blond pest with his perfect Russian and Lithuanian and charming smile?

 

Apparently the right answer was him, because two weeks later, he bumped into the man while flying the cattle class of a really cheap airline – and wondering if the duct tape he saw on the wings was as ominous as he thought it was – to Belgium.

 

“Q, right?” the man asked, confusing Q’s amazement with skepticism. “We met a couple of weeks ago in Italy, if you remember.”

 

“Oh, oh, yes! Bond, James Bond, r-right?” He refused to accept that he was stammering or that he was blushing. His face was red because his phone – which he had just now pulled out – was acting up, and he was going to spend the rest of this flight trying to fix it instead of trying really, really hard not to stare at the man.

 

Not that the flight attendant understood his problem, informing him with a huge, fake smile on her face that she was sure he was going to close that phone in about twenty seconds and yes, it was going to stay like that or so for the entire duration of the flight – that was the second he remembered that he only had about twenty minutes of energy on his laptop because a moron had managed to drive his car into an electricity pole the night before – after which she went to the row behind them, giving the same spiel to another passenger.

 

The pathetic look he was giving his phone prompted James to throw his hand around Q’s shoulder and blind him with a very pleasant smile – two things that somehow bothered and didn’t really bother him at the same time. “I can distract you with tales of my boring job if you want.”

 

His warmth was distracting enough. Too distracting, actually, so Q started to pry James’ hand off of himself. “That is very nice of you, but it’s a very long flight,” hopefully, “and I don’t want you to lose your voice.”

 

“Well, I was thinking that I’d manage to put you to sleep in the first ten minutes,” James joked, giving Q’s hand a light squeeze before releasing him. “So, how about you let me give that plan a try and if it doesn’t work and I do lose my voice, you buy me some hot coffee off the cart?”

 

“Okay, but don’t be offended if I suddenly get sick over you,” Q warned and James just chuckled.

 

The man didn’t lose his voice, but Q still bought him the coffee, which managed to ended up on his trousers when the airplane went through some turbulence. This, in turn, led to James dabbing a napkin over his lap. Now according to one movie he saw, this would all end in an orgy if he didn’t put a stop to it and he wasn’t really into that – he got that movie by accident and stopped it the second the flight attendant and the pilot joined in on the fun – so he slapped James’ hands away and pulled his useless laptop over his lap before _it_ became obvious.

 

“It’s fine, really,” he assured him and shrunk as far as he could from James without phasing through the plane. “When the hell outside calms down and the world also slows down enough for my insides to stop jumping around, I’ll take my overhead bag and change my trousers and no one will ever know.”

 

“I really didn’t mean to possibly give you a third degree burn _there_ ,” James said as he pointed in the general direction of Q’s groin area.

 

Q chuckled. “Were you hoping to do that to another part of my body?” He wished those words hadn’t come out of his mouth the second he heard himself say them, but he could blame it on the fact that he was dizzy - even if he wasn’t, but there was no reason for James not to believe him - if he got a funny look.

 

But James honestly laughed at his stupid joke and the rest of the flight was spent with the two of them making horrible puns in all the languages they knew, Q feeling somewhat disappointed when they were about to land.

 

It didn’t cross Q’s mind that he could have asked James for his phone number until he was in his hotel room, getting ready to order room service. He was tempted to hit his head against the desk, but held back because James had had the same chance, and since he didn’t seem to be an airhead who would forget to get someone’s number, Q concluded that it had been for the best.

 

Still, he couldn’t help but hope for Lady Luck to smack him upside the head again so he’d find himself next to James again on his way back, but it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen then or over the next five jobs outside of the country either, which was horrible because Q managed to get stuck between ghastly chatterboxes that wanted to teach him English, picked on his clothes because he was a dumb foreigner that didn’t understand anything – especially fashion – spoiled three good movies he had yet to see, wanted to learn _his_ language, or asked really loudly what he was doing on his computer because surely shouting broke the language barrier, right?

 

But he soldiered through those moments, trying his best to control his dizzy spells – but not regretting it when he failed – and he was sure that no other trip was going to get to him, until a job in ‘twelve hours stuck on a plane’ Tokyo popped up out of nowhere – metaphorically speaking, of course. He tried his best to weasel his way out of _flying_ over there, even going so far as telling them about someone breaking into his apartment – he was still jumpy every time he heard something creak – but his new bosses were insisting on calling the job ‘an emergency’ so Q didn’t have a real choice there other than going unemployed and hungry.

 

Oh, why didn’t he ask James for his number the second time the miracle happened? “Not that it matters, since I am pretty sure the only reason I am interested in him is because he calms me down when I’m flying,” he exclaimed and threw himself on his bed, tugging on his hair.

 

“I am unsure if I should be confused or insulted over what you just said,” his best friend and sometimes partner in crime when it came to inventions, Gabby Teller, chimed in, leaning over him so he could see her frown. “Who is this man and how is it that he calms you down on an airplane when you say I make you jumpy? Actually,” her eyes narrowed and the corners of her lips twitched upwards, which only made him want to kick her out of his apartment, “Should I be asking you _what_ he did to you to calm you down? And for how long?”

 

“Please imagine that I threw you out of my apartment and stop presuming that I joined the mile-high club.” He never understood how people could get in on in an airplane, both because of the horribly small place of the bathroom that probably made an actual coffin seem like a castle and because of the turbulences – well, okay, the plane went up and down when they entered the pockets of air, which definitely had to help with everything and maybe even make it more pleasant… Ah, crap.

 

“Somebody is curious,” Gabby sing-sang, poking Q’s nose and wiggling her eyebrows. “Just make sure you have a condom, that the guy isn’t a creep, and that you aren’t caught because besides a huge fine, I think you’ll also be banned and—”

 

She stopped talking when she saw the spark in Q’s eyes.

 

“And if I do that on all the—”

 

Gabby rushed to cover his mouth. “Q, darling, no matter how good a programmer you are, I don’t think people would be okay with waiting two weeks for you to get to their country, and if they are a company that makes money without even trying, they’d probably force you on a private plane or hire someone else. Plus, you don’t know how to get a hold of him.”

 

“Well, I know his full name and how he looks, so—”

 

“That’s still illegal, beyond creepy and extremely off-putting, so no to the virtual tracking him down,” she interrupted.

 

With those horrible ideas out of his mind and saved from more teasing by Gabby’s uncle calling, Q was left alone to actually start packing and then remember he had nosy cats that just hated it when he left so they liked to hide in his bags when he wasn’t looking, which meant that he had to unpack and try to lock them out of the room. He ended up just shovelling clothes in, his eyes glued to the defeated-looking cats.

 

“They’re being punished so don’t let them in my room,” he instructed the sleepy-looking Gabby, checking his hand luggage to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important.

 

“So leave all the doors open and put an extra fluffy and warm blanket on your bed if I think it gets too cold, got it,” was what she said and started to push him out the door. “You have everything you need, I have everything I need, your cats have more than what they need, so hurry up and go already; you don’t want to miss your flight.”

 

He had one foot out the door when the new locks caught his attention and he dropped all of his luggage bags in favour of grabbing the woman’s hands. “Listen, Gabby, if you feel like you are in danger in even the tiniest, tiny way, grab the cats and run to the cops, understand?”

 

She chuckled and pulled him in a hug, kissing his forehead. “Darling, nothing bad will happen, so just go already, unless you don’t actually want this job?”

 

He did, he really did, and Japan was the first important contract that actually paid and that actually interested him after he dropped the Vinciguerra family, so he paid the cab driver an extra fifty pounds to ignore most of the traffic laws as long as he got him to the airport in time – which he kind of regretted because the driver was a real maniac. 

 

“I am sorry, but I don’t understand a single word you just said,” Q all but shouted in Romanian, clutching the handle above the door so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

 

“What a coincidence, I’m from Romania!” Son of a bitch, this whole talking in a different language had really started to backfire on him. “Well, not exactly from Romania, but I went to college there so I learned the language and they do have that habit of making you feel as if you are one.” He narrowly avoided hitting another car when he turned to grin at him. “The name is Alec, and let me tell you that the way you gave me that address was perfect! No accent, no—”

 

“Red light, red light,” Q stammered in Romanian, pointing terrified at the road. “You know what? I’ll give you 50 more quid if you go back to respecting traffic. I’d rather get to the airport late, but in one piece.”

 

One miracle later and Alec was easily throwing his luggage in a cart, still ranting about how much he loved going bar hopping in the old city while Q was trying to look less white and get his heart to calm down – and also adding going anywhere via cab to his list of things that terrified him.

 

“Rough start to the day?” someone asked the second the crazy cab driver left – refusing the money because he had made Q sick – and Q let out a long-suffering sigh.

 

“English is completely foreign to me, so please leave me alone,” Q answered automatically in German because he had yet to find someone dumb enough to think he was Asian even if his Mandarin, Korean, and Japanese were on point, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Ah, I don’t think you remember me,” the man said.

 

Q turned to glare at him for insisting on talking, and then instantly calmed down. “Bond, James Bond,” he said softly. “We should really stop meeting like this.”

 

James chuckled, looking at his fingers as if he were counting something. “Now why would I want that when you just gave me 10 full words in your posh English that just tickles my ears after such a long time, which also included you saying my name in that special way?” He pointed towards the cart with his luggage and Q nodded, stepping to the side to let him put his two pieces of luggage over Q’s bags.

 

Q tried not to giggle, so he let out a really awkward and obviously forced cough. “I only said it the way you do.” He coughed again, looking at the ground and hoping. “So, where are you going?”

 

“Tokyo.” This was the definitive proof that God existed. “What about you?”

 

Q flashed him his tickets. “It would seem that we’re sharing the plane again. First class?”

 

James smiled as an answer, signaling him inside and guiding him with ease and no touching through the security check - he had checked in online and it seemed his friend had done the same as he did not spare that counter or the seemingly infinite queue formed in front of it a second glance.

 

“I’m going to sound like a snob for saying this, but I only fly first class,” James proudly announced, helping him put all of his bags on the check-in belt. “Well, except for the last time we bumped into each other because there was a mix-up with my original flight. But, that worked out just fine because—”

 

“Sir, are you on this flight or not?” the check-in agent interrupted him, tapping her well-manicured finger against the counter to get him to pay attention to her. “Because if you are not, I will have to ask that you and your friend to take a step to the side so I can finish checking-in all the other people.”

 

James’ check-in was completed with strained smiles and obviously forced pleasantries, but at least it was over relatively fast. However, the actual security check managed to be even more awkward because the damned metal detector hated Q and James got a good glance at his moose socks and his Star Wars boxers when the security guard lifted his shirt to make sure that he really didn’t have an explosive belt or one made out of knives.

 

“So,” James started after a few minutes of silently walking, “do you have a belly ring that you forgot about? Or do you want to file a complaint against the security guard right after I sock him and break his arms?”

 

Was it weird that he found James threatening someone in in his name sweet? Or should he take a step back, feel offended, and then demand that the man never even so much as look in his direction because they weren’t anything besides friends? He guessed he should because that had bothered him in the past, but when James did it, he wasn’t made to feel like a trophy that needed to be protected from an adversary. Well, James was probably just making a joke, but …Where was Gabby when he needed her because his brain froze in the middle of really important thoughts?

 

“No belly ring,” he said after a moment and James looked just a tad disappointed, “but my jeans have metal studs fixed in the waistband for some strange reason, so I think we can let the man off the hook this one time.”

 

James hummed, sneaking his arm over Q’s shoulders as they sat down in the VIP waiting room. “Fine, but if he shows up on the plane because he’s still not convinced you aren’t a walking bomb, I’ll open the door and push him out. Not that doing that is possible,” he added quickly when he saw how white Q turned. “Because you can’t open the door of a plane while it is in flight because of pressure and physics in general.”

 

“I—I know that,” Q stuttered in Japanese, fiddling his thumbs. “I just… Well, when I was young this old lady I was sitting next to started talking about all the horrible things that could happen and… Can you please bore me with stories of your work until we land?”

 

He realized that was an insult a second later, but James didn’t seem to care, squeezing his shoulders and already talking about the time he had been dared by one of his colleagues to go to a casino with a really fancy stapler that they all had to be very careful with because it was really expensive and then he accidentally dropped it in the Zoo part of the casino – he stopped to point out that it was a really extravagant casino because the boss of Universal Exports was an old woman who had really a really strange and kitschy taste which was made obvious the second you walked in her office and saw the horrid bulldog statuette she had on her desk – and that was why it ended up being devoured by a komodo dragon.

 

There was so little logic and so much mystery and nonsense in the story that the normally long waiting time seemed to be no longer than a second, Q outright surprised when he was prompted for his plane tickets. James tried resuming his funny tale while they were taking off, but Q was more than distracted because the plane was shaking rather brutally due to the storm they were passing through.

 

“You know, you say your job is so boring that it can put people to sleep, but all of my stories end up ‘and that got the program working’ not with ‘and then an exotic animal destroyed office equipment,” Q squeaked out despite his attempt to sound unaffected.

 

James chuckled, shaking his head and rearranging the blankets around their legs. “In all honesty, I am only telling the freak accidents that happened to me because I’m trying to impress you.”

 

Q started to nibble on his lower lip. “Now you’re making me feel horrible because I have nothing to use to impress you.”

 

His heart definitely skipped a beat when James brushed the hair off of his forehead. “I beg to differ, Q. You are the only ‘IT geek’ I know who travels this much. The two chances I had to see you work, although I had no idea what you were doing, it looked pretty impressive and I know for sure that your job is not an easy thing to do.”

 

“I agree with it not being easy part, but the rest really is boring, especially since…” He trailed off and narrowed his eyes. “Are you complimenting me because you want to flatter me and that was the only nice thing about me you could think of?”

 

James pushed his full glass of champagne towards the very familiar-looking flight attendant - Q was dead sure that she had been on another flight of his, but thought it odd as that had been done with a different airline - and moved closer to him. “I find a lot of things about you nice and interesting, but something tells me you’d start speaking Hungarian if I started being that obvious in my hitting on you.”

 

Q thought for a moment and then lifted the armrest between them, brushing their shoulders together. “I’d actually go with Bulgarian, and the only way I’d do that would be if the person who was hitting on me wasn’t you.”

 

They shared a smile and James rested his hand on his leg. “In that case, could I maybe get your phone number? This way I can stop visiting fortune tellers to see if I’ll get another chance to bump into you. Madame Solitaire told me the last time I bought her a new condo in the Maldives that I am really pushing my luck with the fates.”

 

“Well, if you bought Madame Solitaire a condo then I _have_ to give you my number.”

James had his phone out and turned on even before he was even done saying that. “No rush, but I think the fates are really close to smacking me over the head with you and I’d hate to see how they’d react if I somehow manage to not get your number this time,” James joked, shooing the obviously annoyed stewardess away and then slipping her some money in an attempt to make leave him alone. “As sweet as you’re being already,” an apologetic squeeze of his leg, “would you be so kind as bring us something to drink?”

 

The stewardess actually looked like she was a heartbeat away from smacking him. “Sir, I’ll bring you whatever drink you want after you put the phone away,” she said between gritted teeth, having a real hard time keeping her smile in place.

 

“Don’t worry; it’s in airplane mode,” James reassured her, holding his phone to her face and shaking it. “See? Now, could you bring us our drinks now?”

 

She extended her hand, obviously hinting at James to give her his phone, but the man childishly and stubbornly held it further away from her. “Sir, I will _kindly_ remind you that you are not allowed to keep your phone on in any mode while flying with us?”

 

For a moment, it looked like James was going to start a fight because of the way he narrowed his eyes and clutched his phone tightly, sighing, while the woman looked like she sure as hell wasn’t backing down from enforcing the rule and Q was really starting to have second thoughts about giving the possibly violent man his phone number. But then James simply turned off his phone and turned to smile at him. “We’ll exchange phone numbers when we land.”

 

“M-maybe even hotel names?” Q hazarded a try, his earlier fear about James forgotten.

 

“I’d be so ballsy as to ask you for your hotel room number, after which I’d present you with mine,” James continued, pulling him closer. “Would it land me in hot water or somewhere much more pleasant?”

 

“He’s being a bit too pushy, if you were to ask me,” the stewardess chimed in, arms crossed over her chest. “I mean, he doesn’t even have your phone number yet, and…” She trailed off when she saw how hard they both were glaring at her, clearing her throat and arranging her uniform a little. “If you would still like me to serve you drinks, is there anything in particular that you’d like? Our wine selection is quite extensive and—”

 

“Surprise us,” Q cut her off, leaning closer to James so he could whisper, “And the only reason you’d land in hot water if you did that would be if one of our hotel rooms had a hot tub.”

 

The glint in the man’s eyes made him shiver and Q did his best not to glance in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll make sure to pay extra to get one in mine if it would please you even more,” James muttered in his ear, rubbing his arm.

 

Hot promises exchanged and glasses of water emptied – Q really hoped the woman hadn’t added anything extra in them – they both decided that it would be for the best if they talked about something else before the bossy stewardess forced them to sit in different parts of the airplane.

 

Now, since James had been the one attempting to bore him with his job for the past two flights, it was only fair that Q would attempt to return the favour. Only, despite the fact that his job had never sounded or been boring to him, somewhere between telling James about how he had turned down a very nice offer from a man he considered to be more than unstable by the name of Blofeld and explaining why he had had to quit working for the Vinciguerra family, he fell asleep.

 

He woke up nuzzling a neck, drowning in the smell of a very pleasant aftershave and completely lost for a moment as to where he was until the plane shook and James hugged him tighter, pressing his lips against his ear.

 

“Someone asking you to pretend to still be asleep may not be the best thing to hear the second you wake up,” James whispered hurriedly, “but it would be for the best if you did as I ask because the plane’s been hijacked.”

 

Q made to move, but James held him tighter and the feeling of safety he was basking in completely disappeared. Okay, so he did end up divulging where he was staying to a psychopath with whom he had also made plans to have a sex vacation. Great, just bloody great. He should really invent an app that could tell him how crazy someone was just by a picture and nothing else.

 

“I thought I told you to wake him up five minutes ago!” someone shouted and James hugged him in such a way that he managed to keep him still and cover his mouth.

 

“My friend took some pills because flying scares him,” James half-lied, moving to push Q against the side of the plane so he could better hide him. “I can’t wake him up.”

 

“You’re going to—”

 

“I can’t because of the pills,” James cut off the man’s growl. “He’s already terrified of flying and—Ugh!”

 

Q’s head shot up and tried to hide James’ head so the man wouldn’t hit him with the butt of the very real looking gun that he was holding. “I’m awake, I’m awake,” he stuttered. “So please let him be, okay?”

 

But it wasn’t okay; the man was angrier than before. “So you two take me for a fool?” He growled, his hand finding its way into Q’s hair almost as easily and fast as James’ found their way around the man’s arm in an attempt to stop him. “You two think that you can make a fool of me?”

 

Despite James’ attempts to get  him to let go, the man still tugged him forward and Q instantly started to feel queasy, the colour of his face instantly changing. “I really do get sick on airplanes and I really was asleep. In fact, what you’re doing right now is making things worse.”

 

Of course the man didn’t listen to him and Q didn’t actually think he would – he was waving around a gun and hijacking a plane after all – which was why he more than welcomed the blood that just rushed out of his nose, not even bothering to cover his face. In fact, he was sorry he only managed to get just a tiny bit of blood on the man’s shoes and that it wasn’t accompanied by vomit.

 

“You managed to make it worse,” James breathed out, putting himself between Q and the hijacker. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” Q froze when he saw the man pull out a gun, but James turned around so fast that he managed to elbow it out of his hand. “Let me take him to the bathroom.”

 

“No one is going anywhere,” someone else growled from behind them, answering Q’s silent question about why everyone continued to look terrified instead of jumping the weaponless attacker. “You two will sit down this instant and keep quiet!”

 

Q exchanged a look with James and, deciding to ignore the fact that the blue eyes were clearly saying no to whatever he was thinking, he wrapped his arms around his stomach, lurching. “Could I at least get a bottle of water to wash my face with? I’m not…” He staggered forward a little – because James was a really good anchor – and pretended like he was about to puke which got the man to step aside.

 

“Just take him to the bathrooms before he stinks up the whole place,” the second hijacker growled. “And leave the door open!”

 

James made to tug him towards the toilets in the front of the airplane, but Q dug his heels in the ground and refused to budge. “I can’t use the ones in the front when I am like this because I get sicker, remember?”

 

“Maybe you can try to make an exception this time?” James asked slowly, trying really hard not to hiss. “The ones in the front are closer.”

 

“I’ll put a bullet through his head if I see him start to lurch again,” the leader of the terrorists warned, tapping his gun against the side of Q’s head. “So you better drag your _friend_ towards a bathroom before I lose my patience.”

 

They ended up using the bathrooms in the back of the airplane which allowed them to count how many hijackers were on the plane even though James squeezed his hand to get him to stop looking at them.

 

“I know what you are doing,” James whispered as he helped Q sit down on the toilet, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt so he could dab a damp napkin around his neck and on his chest. “There are four—”

 

“Five out in the open and at least one more in the cockpit,” Q corrected him, resting his head on his shoulder so they could have an easier time talking and plotting because he sure as hell wasn’t going to let crazy old hag scenario number 54 become true. “Do you know what they want?”

 

James let out a frustrated sigh, moving back a bit so he could cup Q’s head. “Q, even if I knew what they wanted, we are outnumbered and outgunned.”

 

“They could have shot me back there—”

 

“Exactly!”

 

“—but they didn’t, which tells me that they don’t really intend to hurt anyone,” Q continued, nuzzling James’ hand and looking as pathetic as he could when he noticed one of the men glaring daggers at them.

 

“At least not yet.” He wet the napkin again and placed it on Q’s forehead, forcing his head back. “So let’s just wait until they make their…” He trailed off when he saw the way Q was looking at him, sighing again. “Realistically speaking, what could an IT specialist and someone in import-export do against _maybe_ six armed terrorists?”

 

“I don’t really know,” Q said honestly, worrying his lower lip. “But people tend to overlook me, and I saw that you have good moves. Add to all of that the fact that their leader seems to be squeamish and we might have a chance.” He redid the math before James could. “I’ll venture to say that the chance will get bigger if we could get other people to help us with this and what if, after we take the leader down, the others will back off?”

 

“That works just fine in movies,” James grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, Q, everyone is terrified and—”

 

“You two are done in there!” the leader shouted, pushing the guard away from the door and muttering something about useless help under his breath. “Get back to your seats before I paint this room red with your blood!”

 

There was a clear spark of anger in James’ blue eyes, but it was easily subdued by Q’s failed attempt at getting up. This was too much for the poor man and James’ “Lean on me,” he gently instructed him, having no trouble lifting him up. “And when you are next to that food cart, I’ll stumble over your feet which will cause us to fall forward, and you try to grab the sharpest thing you can without being seen,” he continued in a whisper.

 

Q couldn’t help but plant a kiss on James’ cheek that got him a kick in his back which sent him flying over the food cart. It hurt like hell, but this was actually perfect as Q had enough time and good enough reason to run his hand around the cart until he cut his hand on the sharpest knife which he slipped to James and took a few duller ones as well as a few forks when the man helped him sit up – and the actual fuck? They took his bloody toothbrush because it could be used as a weapon and then allowed them to use sharp knives? Why did he feel as if the hijackers got on the plane with water pistols instead of real ones?

 

They were pushed in their seats, James ignoring Q’s questioning looks in favour of using his tie to try and stop the bleeding. “Don’t bleed to death, okay?” he muttered and pushed Q’s head back, the person behind them letting out a shriek when the chair was pushed back a little. “Can I get some gauze here?”

 

“You’re going to get a bullet through—”

 

“That’s too much blood for me to stomach,” one of the stewardesses choked out, covering her mouth with her hands.

 

“No one is puking!” the leader shouted and pointed his gun at the woman. “I’ll kill you all before I’ll let you do that.”

 

That was exactly what you had to say to get a mass of terrified people to start screaming and that was exactly what they did. They shouted and cried out about how they didn’t want to die, the stewardess in particular having a really high pitched yell. And even though not a single person thought about rushing the momentarily nonplussed hijackers, the outburst proved to be more than a good distractions and James instantly jumped on the man who had his gun out while Q was trying really hard not to care too much that he was bashing his laptop against another person to actually inflict pain.

 

That person dealt with, Q threw himself on the back of another attacker who was charging towards James, trying to strangle, bite his neck, and scratch his eyes out. Before he could be kicked off, James hit him in the neck with his elbow and easily dispatched the leader, who had just pulled the safety off his gun, by throwing his knife at him and sticking it in his hand.

 

“Hold them down,” growled James and everyone just jumped on the hijackers. He and James rushed towards the front of the airplane where the hijacker who had somehow managed to enter the cockpit did the stupid thing of opening the door to see what was happening.

 

James was the first to reach the man, getting the door slammed over his hands, but he stopped him from closing it, which allowed Q to grab the hijacker by the collar of his shirt and start to do his best to drag him out of there. He wasn’t getting very far because the man was like a mountain of muscles – he was really getting pulled in – but James managed to get over his pain and clung to Q’s waist, starting to pull him backwards.

 

It took the man a moment to remember that yes, he also had arms and even legs and that yes, he could use them to try and shake them off, but by then both the pilot and co-pilot had thrown themselves on his back, trying their best to immobilize him – meanwhile, Q was doing his best not to focus on the fact that _no one was flying the plane_.

 

But the mountain still managed to get a kick in and Q saw white for a moment, realizing that he was staring at the ceiling of the plane after a few seconds and that the grunting was coming from James who had managed to push the hijacker to the ground and was beating him into a bloody pulp.

 

“Get back to flying the plane!” he shrieked at the frozen pilot and co-pilot, staggering towards James. “I think he’s out,” he muttered, pushing his face against his neck, nuzzling it in an attempt to appease the beast. “James, you can stop.”

 

“He’s still breathing,” James growled out. “I’ll stop only when he chokes on his own blood!”

 

“007, stop!” the stewardess with an attitude ordered, pointing one of the hijackers’ guns at him. “The threat is eliminated so your licence to kill no longer applies.” Q froze when James turned to glare at the woman, shrinking a little when the man let out another growl. “Fine; don’t listen to me, but look at Q and dare to continue.”

 

The beast turned slowly and Q flinched without wanting to when the blue eyes filled with what could only be described as madness and pure anger settled on him. “I’ll stop,” James said slowly, arms twitching. “He’s still alive and I’ll stop,” he said again, carefully making his way towards him. “Are you—”

 

“I’m fine,” Q said quickly, taking off his cardigan and starting to wipe James’ hands – and ended up getting him covered in even more blood because his own wounds were still bleeding. “You’re _very_ strong for someone who does nothing but convince other people to sign contracts... Might I ask what exactly your company imports and exports?”

 

“You’re still bleeding and he ruined your cardigan,” James said instead. “Eve, if you could magic up a medical kit and pretend you don’t see me strangling…” He trailed off, remembering how Q got the cut on his hand when his eyes landed on the one who had kicked him.

 

“I’d rather you don’t,” Q said softly, tugging on James’ arm. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough violence for a day?”

 

“We have, but he hasn’t,” James barked, looking apologetic when he saw Q flinch. “You are bleeding because of him.”

 

“But are we still in danger and would his death stop my bleeding?” Q continued in the soft voice, smiling a little when he saw James let out a defeated sigh. “Your anger subdued, I have to admit that I am quite dizzy, so if you could ask the stewardess who I don’t actually think is a stewardess to bring me that first aid kit and then start telling me who you really are while you stop me from bleeding to death?”

 

James exchanged looks with the supposed stewardess and then he tugged Q to the very front of the airplane where, after shaking hands with the pilot and co-pilot who were now heading to the closest airport, he opened a trap door and stepped to the side, waiting for him to go down first.

 

“I don’t want to kill you, you know; this is where they rest during very long flights such as this one,” James explained when he saw Q looking more than a little hesitant. “I want you to be resting while I fix you up, and trust me, you’ll be wanting to be lying back when I start answering your questions.”

 

“I was thinking that I might become so dizzy that I’d fall down the ladder, not that you’d want to hurt me,” Q said slowly and James smiled, placing his hand on his lower back. “Until now,” Q added, pulling away.

 

James gently took Q’s hands in his, glaring at the two other men until they cleared their throats and started to push buttons all over their dashboard, pretending to be talking with a control tower. “Look at me now, ignore the fact that I’ve only told you half-truths, and tell me if I’d really hurt you.” He quickly pulled his hands away and hid them behind his back when Q glanced at the blood stains. “Keep in mind that it belongs to a person who wanted to crush your skull.”

 

“Normally, hearing those exact words would have me running for the hills, but…” He trailed off and cupped James’ face for a moment, exchanging a smile. “Still, could you carry me on your back? I really don’t think I’ll make it without breaking my neck.”

 

James turned around and kneeled, helping Q wrap his legs around his middle. “So you don’t fall off,” he said without any prompting, sneakily kissing his knuckles. “And you’re going to have to push against me as much as—”

 

“Bond, could you not?” the supposed stewardess snapped from the door, brown eyes narrowed in annoyance. “M’s going to have your head on a platter as it is. Do you really want me to add ‘harassing the possible witness’ to my report?”

 

They didn’t really exchange any words while Q got his hands patched up, just hisses every now and then accompanied by mumbles which might have been apologies. And Q didn’t really mind, his heart beating so fast and hard as a result of the mix between the experience that he had just been through and the fact that James had pretty much admitted that he had been lying to him up until then, that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear anything.

 

Once his hands looked like something you’d find in an Egyptian tomb – an exaggeration on James’ part, but it was clear that doing so calmed him down so Q didn’t say anything – he was given the magical pill that promised his stress and pain would go away up until they landed, and he was also carefully tucked in the surprisingly comfortable bed, two pieces of cotton stuck up his nose, and talking could no longer be avoided.

 

“I’m a spy,” James started and Q snorted so hard that he sent one of the cotton swabs flying from his nose. “No, really, I am,” James insisted, frowning.

 

Q bit his lower lip in an attempt to subdue his laughter, failing miserably – he supposed it was a nervous reaction more than honest amusement as he should feel more annoyed than anything else because James was beating around the bush. “Are you a writer?” Q finally managed to gasp out, wiping the tears from his eyes.

 

“I am part of the British double oh spy programme run by MI6.” He sounded very serious, so maybe he was an actor? Or maybe the pill he took was too strong and he just thought the man was dead serious? “My designated number is 007, the stewardess with the attitude is also an agent of a different class and less deadly than me named Eve, and the crazy cab driver who brought you to the airport is my psychotic Russian friend who is also a double oh agent and who is named Alec, and we were all a part of your secret security detail.”

 

Okay, no one could be that good of an actor. “Wait, are you serious?” James nodded slowly and Q scooted away from him, holding the blanket as tightly as he could around his chest without hurting his hands. “Are you sure you’re not supposed to be on some pills?”

 

James clicked his tongue, sitting on the bed across from Q’s. “When we land, the British ambassador himself will be picking us up from the airport and once we are on official homeland territory, the head of MI6 herself will be contacting us and, after saying in a coded way that she will have my balls for blowing my cover for no good reason, she will confirm that I am not insane in the way you think I am.”

 

Q prided himself on the fact that he was one of those rare people that tended to normally think before speaking. There were those rare occasions in which his brain took a short vacation, but those were usually moments in which he was drunk. However, this time he could easily blame it on the shock and all the blood loss. “Let’s assume for a moment that I believe you: before, when we  were hitting it off, it was because you were _tasked_ …” He trailed off because, while his brain was no longer active, his heart still hurt and no one really liked being used – well, not without discussing it first with their partner and this was definitely not one of those cases.

 

“No, no, you got it all wrong,” James said quickly. “My boss decided that it would be for the best if you had a security detail due to you accidentally working for some as yet unproven terrorists, but when we bumped into each other for first time, it was an honest accident and we are honestly hitting it off.”

 

“I already sent everything I had on the Vinciguerra family to MI6—”

 

“We know,” James interrupted him, looking sheepishly at him. “We tried to hack your computer and when we couldn’t, which had our Quartermaster waxing poetry about your skills, we had a bunch of agents break into your apartment and make sure.”

 

Q glared daggers at him. “Do you have any idea how _terrified_ I was when I realized that someone had been in my apartment? I thought—”

 

James moved to kneel besides Q, cupping his face. “I’ll have a serious conversation with the agents who’ve been to your apartment about that later, but know that you were safe the entire time.” He released Q’s face when a pointy elbow found its way in his stomach, but did not move away. “You were safe,” he insisted. “And not because I was stalking you, but because it turned out that you were already in the company of good secret agents who bent over backwards to keep you safe from everyone, possible dates included.”

 

“What?” Q hissed because he wasn’t dumb and was quick to put two and two together and he was pissed at Gabby, Illiya, and Solo.

 

“Not what we really need to talk about, but please understand that secret agents can’t remain secret if they tell everyone what they are, even if they are dealing with people that they care about and respect and love in a brotherly way,” James muttered, looking like he more than regretted opening his mouth because Q looked like he actually wanted to break something or someone, and while he was glad he had found yet another thing that turned him on about the man, he knew how it felt to be betrayed.

 

“Is there anyone in my life who is straight with me, no pun intended?” Q lamented and James pulled him forward, only to get his lips blocked by bandaged hands. “Does it look like I have a thing for spies right now?”

 

“Are you saying that normally you…?” James trailed off and clicked his tongue, lowering his head. “Not the time for this, I get it.”

 

“You think?” Q growled, slapping James’ shoulder and instantly tearing up, pulling his feet up so he could rest his head against hia knees, trying hard not to whimper. “Is your name even James Bond?”

 

“Yes, I gave you my real name.” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly when Q arched his eyebrow at him. “I told you that I am a secret agent when I could have lied, so I think you figured out on your own that I am sort of a horrible secret agent. But, Q, know that I wanted your phone number for my own selfish reasons and I wanted to continue being selfish later on, in our hotel rooms, and later still when we get back to London. That was why Eve was blowing a fuse earlier,” James murmured, gently running his hand down his back. “And trust me, your friends wanted to tell you, but they’re under a gag order.”

 

He really should be mature about this, but he was still miffed about everything and for a very good reason. “If that’s the case, aren’t you under one?”

 

James shrugged. “I’m not the best when it comes to following the rules of my own world. I mean, I _convinced_ the actual agent who was supposed to be your main bodyguard to let me handle this because you’re hot and interesting and I am a really selfish person and I wanted to continue being selfish together with you.” He ran a finger down Q’s face, tapping his lower lip.

 

“That's really horrible,” Q said after a moment, stopping James from moving away by resting his forehead against his. “If you are sure that you are 100% sane,” he pushed his lips against James’ mouth because James had tilted his head a bit to the left and made a little noise as if he was about to disagree or explain something, “I must say that I always imagined secret agents using better pick-up lines.”

 

James hummed and Q could feel him smiling against his lips. “Well, I am not trying to be a secret agent around you.” A quick peck and Q felt James tense up for a moment, relaxing only when he got a peck back – and since Q had felt him turning into the Cheshire cat the second their lips brushed, Q wondered if James really thought he was going to get slapped. “At least, not until you ask me.”

 

Q tried to run his fingers through James’ hair, but ended up awkwardly patting him and thinking about a short-haired Labrador. Because of that, when James ran his tongue over his lower lip, trying to get an actual kiss, Q simply burst out laughing and turned away from him, his stomach already starting to hurt.

 

“Okay, I am pretty sure I am not that horrible of a kisser when I am not trying to be an agent,” James said in his defence, peeking over his shoulder. “And I can prove that if you just give me a chance.” He suddenly pulled away and before Q even knew it, the man was halfway up the ladder. “Though, I won’t if you don’t want to, and I am pretty sure the consulate will have a restraining order on hand.”

 

“No, James, wait,” Q gasped out, turning to look at him – but not getting up because that magical pill had just kicked in and the bed was really comfortable and the world was spinning even faster than usual. “I am sure you’re a very good kisser, but you simply reminded me of a dog—” James was now pushing up against the hatch. “A cute, adorable puppy!” he shouted after him, starting to laugh again.

 

James slid back down the ladder and, because turbulences had to be a thing, ended up on top of Q. “I’m going to _fetch_ a bottle of water and try to kill Eve because I am pretty sure I heard her high-heels tapping up there.”

 

He made to get up, but Q wrapped his hands around him to keep him in place. “Why don’t you do that after you prove to me just how good of a kisser you are?” He moved his head forward a little and parted his lips, James more than happy to meet him halfway, only for another turbulence to make them knock their heads together.

 

“How about I try to erase the picture of me as a dog from your mind after we land?” James groaned, holding his head with one hand and rubbing Q’s with the other.

 

James moved a little, but Q dug his nails in the hem of his shirt. “Will you stay with me until then? I can feel the blood starting to rush out my nose again.”

 

James pecked his forehead and smiled. “Trying to kiss you was a bit awkward since you do have that red cotton sticking out of your nose.”

                                                                                                        

Q narrowed his eyes. “How about you fetch me some new cotton swabs?”

 

“Do I really have to fetch you that when I find you fetching enough?” James said smoothly, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

Q snorted. “That is _really_ horrible; are you sure you’re not supposed to be on some pills to help you with your overactive imagination? Or maybe—” He forgot his next joke because James Bond was proving just how good of a kisser he really was, somehow managing to avoid bumping their noses together as his hands slipped down Q’s body, drowning his senses in the taste of expensive champagne and complete and utter safety and warmth.


End file.
